


Looking At The Moon, Seeing You

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Flashback scene, Friendship, Love, Memories, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:13:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: In the wake of the bombing at the CIA, Saul allows his mind to roam back to a time when he and Carrie were newly acquainted with one another.





	Looking At The Moon, Seeing You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AZ-5 (elim_garak)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elim_garak/gifts).

> total AU from the crypt of my lurid imagination. . . a little gift for a dear soul on the other side of the universe who sees something special in this pair with me. Thank you so much AZ-5 for being such a generous commenter and reader of this work and for reflecting on it's unique interest.

_Smoke and dust hangs thick. He tries not to cough. The dust of bones and skin clouds the sky. He can't see the moon. They've told him she's presumed dead. I'm looking for you, I'm looking for you, he chants. He's supposed to take charge, but he's paralyzed. His mind drifts. If he could only see the moon._

_======= _

From his vantage point at the door of the dimly lit venue, Saul easily appraised the woman standing at the bar. He took her in, looked her up and down, and decided she had a coltish grace- lithe, but potentially jittery. Almost certainly dangerous, if given the right provocation. 

The dress she'd worn for the gala was not particularly fancy or fussy, but it flattered her figure well enough. She tapped her fingers on the bar as she waited for her vodka tonic. Muted strains of big band found its way in from the main ballroom. She appeared as though she wasn't quite sure why she felt flustered, but seemed was happy she found a separate space to collect herself before going back into the main event. This was a sentiment to which the older man could relate. 

"Scotch, neat," his masculine voice was warm, but commanding and very familiar. It served not to spook but to make her spin and smile up at him. 

"Well, hello there, Mr. Berenson," she said as the bartender set her cocktail before her. She picked it up and couldn't get it to her mouth fast enough. "You're looking dapper this evening." He'd traded in his earth tones and corduroys for a classic tuxedo. Aside from the strained look on his face and his crooked tie, he looked every inch a gentleman.

"Yeah, you don't clean up so bad yourself. How are ya, Carrie?" He picked up his drink, raised it to her and took a sip. While he tried to exercise restraint, he easily could have taken the entire thing in one gulp. She took another sip of hers and stabbed at the lime with the cocktail straw.

"To be honest with you, these work events aren't really my scene," she confided. He noted the manner in which her eyes darted around the room. Typically passionate but composed, she seemed more anxious than he'd seen her in the halls of Langley.

"Not a fan of big band music?" Saul's questioned with a sardonic twist of his lips.

"I'm more of a jazz gal," Carrie said with a dip of her hips and a little wink. "And you? What are you doing out here?"

"I just needed a moment to gather my thoughts before I do the thing," he grumbled and took another sip of his drink.

"That's right! You're speaking tonight! Oh, well, I'll have to at least stay to see that then."

"What? Were you planning on cutting out early?"

Carrie smiled and looked down. "Well, actually, I was. There's a band I wanted to check out across town. I was hoping no one would notice. But I'll definitely stay for your speech, Mr. Berenson."

"You're too kind," Saul chuckled. He watched Carrie tuck ribbons of gleaming, blonde hair behind her ears that seemed to immediately fall right back from whence it came, only for her to repeat the process. It was not without charm. "How long have you been with the Agency for now?"

"It'll be three years in January."

"You think you want to start calling me by my first name?" He asked.

Her eyebrows raised and she leaned against the bar. "Sure. Saul," she stretched out his name as if it were a flavor she sampled over her entire tongue, swished it around, and then swallowed it happily. "You here alone tonight?"

"I'm afraid so," he sighed. "My better half, Mira, is at a conference on public health, and had to miss my grand performance, such as it is. And you? Are you here with anyone?"

"Nope. I sort of had a date but he bailed at the last minute. I think the idea of being in a room packed full of spies was intimidating to him, so I guess it wasn't meant to be anyway. Probably had too many skeletons in his closet or something?" She wriggled in her dress as if she were itchy. 

Saul laughed at this. Really laughed. Threw his head back and guffawed. Her joke wasn't that funny, and yet, he needed the release of laughter to distract him from his speech, from Mira being gone again, from all the manipulative machinations he had in play at that exact moment. "We've got a position in Beirut for which I think you'd be a perfect fit. I'd like to recommend you, that is, if you have any interest."

"What?" Her eyes went wide and he tried to discern their color. "Oh my god. Yes! I mean, I'm interested yeah! Thank you, Mister, uhhh, Saul!" 

"You've got to do me a favor first," he said softly. 

"Anything!" 

"Come back in that room and dance with me. Just once. It'll help me set my nerves right."

"I can't imagine you being nervous," she dipped her head and looked up at him through a thick fringe of lashes she'd painted black for the evening. Her voice was low, composed, almost sultry. "But I like to dance. And I would be happy to be twirled across the floor by such a handsome fellow." She placed a hand on his lapel and removed it just as quickly, cocked her head, and grinned.

As long as he lives, he will never know what compelled him to offer her his arm right then and there, to lead her back into the event hall, and to smoothly strut her onto the dance floor. A new song had just begun. He swirled her away from him and then back into his embrace as easily as if she were a pool of fine wine in a glass and he was examining her legs. It did something to him, something he'd never admit, to have a fair, young woman in his arms. The sparkling light from a mirrored ball dappled her face and set her sapphire eyes aglow. 

"Jazzy enough for you?" He asked her. 

"It's a good song," she conceded. "Sinatra's rendition is perhaps the most popular, but Billie Holiday's version of it is my favorite, of course." She had good taste, he had to give her that. 

There was no singer to accompany the band, so Saul bent his head and sang into the shell of her ear, so she alone could hear, "_I'll find you in the morning sun and when the night is new, I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you_." 

"Oh," she gasped. "You sing?" 

"Don't tell anyone," Saul chuckled. 

"Your secret is safe with me," she whispered back with a wink. She reminded him now not so much of an infant horse, but of a fairy or some other magical creature. With those big eyes and full lips, gazing and smiling up at him, he was struck at how young she looked, at how young she would likely always look. For an instant, the thought of sending this delicate waif of a girl into the hornets nest of the Middle East struck him with panic and he instantly regretted his decision at offering her the posting. His brain raced to find a way to take it back. She felt so small in his arms. It was impossible she could ever defend herself against unforgiving forces of evil out there in the scalding desert sun. Or maybe, she just made him feel too large, ungainly even. Her spindle like arms threaded around him as they floated over the parquet floor. 

"Um, Carrie?"

"Yes?"

"Are you trying to lead?" Saul gripped her hand a little tighter, and to prove his point that he was in control he dipped her slightly and then brought her back up securely into his arms. Carrie said nothing, but Saul felt a gentle relinquishing ripple through her muscles. Her gaze softened and she allowed herself to be pulled closer to him. And then, in the swelling symphony of the song, it was as they'd been dance partners for a decade and could anticipate the other's every step and move. It was lovely, gentle even. In fact, she rested her head against his chest so her fluff of yellow hair tickled his chin. He would never, ever admit to his fingers inching up on her back so they were able to find her bare skin, where it was exposed above the plunging backline of her dress, and yet, in his most private memories, it was the tactile sensation of her flesh under the pads of his old, thick digits that forced him to croon, "_In every summer's day, in everything that's light and gay. . . I'll always think of you that way_." His voice matched the tenor saxophone. 

For a while there was nothing but Carrie in his arms, blissfully filling all his senses, but Saul made the mistake of scanning the crowd in a moment of self consciousness. "You wanna tell me why David Estes is scowling at me like he wishes a hole would open in the floor under us and swallow up up?" He asked. 

"Nope," Carrie shook her head and looked up at him as the song wound down into a most mournful end. "You dance as divinely as you sing, Mr. Berenson," she said, half dazed. 

"Saul," he whispered.

"Saul," she sent back to him on her breath. He caught the subtle sting of alcohol and for a moment, it perplexed him. She seemed perfectly sober, yet also pliable, and it was in that instant he realized he had nothing to fear. In his arms he held a perfect study in contradictions who would traipse the world and trip up any target before they even knew what hit them. He smelled the musky vanilla of her perfume and almost laughed at what a fool he'd been, thinking her an innocent child. 

Their song ended, as songs always do, and with that coy, sideways smirk, she straightened his tie and bowed out of the evening. She didn't stay to hear him speak after all, at least he didn't think she did, but when he gave his presentation, his voice had a virility to it known only to a man who'd possessed a pretty young thing and believed himself that stud, even for a moment. He never told a soul. He went home alone and shuffled into his bed, half hard with confusion. He fell asleep and woke a hundred times. In the morning he cinched up his tie and grimaced at his reflection. He'd never tell a soul, not even himself, what he'd felt the night before, dancing with that wisp of stardust in his embrace. 

So he sent her away. He sent her to the Middle East. He sent her as far as he possibly could send her with only the tether of their voices connecting them.

======= 

_Now he does not dance. He does not drink. He stands perfectly still before the shrouded bodies. Hundreds of them. _

_"Glorified and sanctified be God's great name throughout the world which He has created according to His will. May He establish His kingdom in your lifetime and during your days. . ." he recites the words in Hebrew. He closes his eyes. He continues to say the words again and again. He says them until they become a rhythm, until his body sways with it, like a dance. It is sacrilege but it is sacred also. His legs are so tired. They can barely hold him now. His arms ache for her. His entire body thrums with a phantom pain. He's forgotten how to move. He's forgotten how to do anything but pray and miss her. _

_He looks out over the white cap sea of bodies and wonders which is hers. There are so many, white and curved, like the moon. _

**Author's Note:**

> Heartfelt thanks to any and all who took the time to read this. I'm obsessed with the Carrie/Saul dynamic and I'm toying with it in different ways. . . all comments are most welcome and I try my best to reply to everyone. xoxo.


End file.
